The 3 Steps
by Mae Equinox
Summary: Castiel mucks in with 3 "humans" trying to do the same as him: Be normal. George, Annie and Mitchell- The dream team. They've got no chance right?
1. Step 1: Find a ghost

_I don't own anything, only bow down to the creators and writers of these two TV shows. I didn't want to keep the story too tied down to any plot already in place. I wanted Annie to be working in The New Found Out for obvious reasons, but some of the timelines will obviously not meet up, but there you go. It is set around Series 2 for BH and the end of Series 4 of Supernatural. Please review if you enjoy, and if not, let me know why!_

A crowded pub, for someone who usually spent time alone, was probably not the best choice of venue. Especially for someone who only really ever spent time with dead people or other monsters that roamed the Earth as he did. But The New Found Out was, as pubs go, the best choice for someone like him. It was dull, miserable, and emptier than the bar was in front of him; littered with drinks he half remembered drinking. And, because of his habits, his interactions with real living human beings had been minimal, and most experiences were unhelpful- Dean and Sam were no more well equipped to live as a normal human than he was. The fact that he was even in a bar meant that he was clearly without faith or without conscience. He had been drunk once before, Castiel reminded himself, but his own mind seemed to hide the details of the matter.

He sat compacted on his stool, as if he could simply wish himself invisible, his trench coat splaying over the edges and creasing where it fell in a beige waterfall crumple. He drank slowly but often, and allowed himself a hiatus every now and then in order to reassess his surroundings. The bar was quite quiet, which definitely appealed to him, except for the bar tender who seemed to be trying to start a conversation even though they both knew it was never going to happen. She was definitely committed, but Cas continued to do nothing. As long as the drinks kept coming, he wouldn't ask any questions. And the various groups of people who were in the pub were quite happy to talk amongst themselves and continue, blissfully unaware, as he was, that there was a drunk sitting at the bar. Downing another whisky, Cas leaned his forehead against the tiny glass and tried to empty his mind but the cold shock immediately surpassed its purpose. He continued to think.

Drinking never solved a problem. There was no use him trying to muddle a brain already a puzzle. There were so many pieces to it, and each piece ran through his head: prophets, angels, demons, Dean, Sam... He took another drink, already placed on the bar within his reach, not even registering the burn down his throat. The infinite knowledge he possessed was useless when it came to human beings.

Especially when he was stranded, with no money or power, in a small pub in Bristol that was less interesting than one of Dean's favourite TV shows like Doctor Sexy M.D. Cas never understood it, but that was just another part of being human he didn't understand. The dilemma continued to weave its way through his many thoughts: He placed his finger on the rim of one of the many glasses in front of him and traced the circular shape, his thoughts going round and round inside his head. The names of all the prophets seared into his mind, Lucifer and Michael, round and round and round, killing Lucifer but saving Sam, Dean saying yes; he pulled his hand away. He just couldn't understand. His head was almost touching the bar top and he suddenly inhaled, placing both hands on either side of his body and gripping the bar, the wood beginning to splinter under his fingers.

When it came to identifying every other beast or monster in the world, his knowledge was incomparable. Cas had watched humanity for two thousand years, he had seen the first sea creature crawl onto the sandy shores of Earth, and seen man evolve, and yet he recognised a ghost before recognising any human emotion. This infuriated him.

He looked up into the bartender's face, her mouth still forming words. She was perfect; with black curls of hair, grey ugg boots and what he thought were long johns. His brow furrowed. She looked almost normal. She was there, but just a little distorted, as if her whole body had shifted a little to the left but an imprint of it had been left behind. He assumed it was only him that had noticed this, even if the pub's numbers had dwindled to five. She smiled down at him and obviously thought it appropriate to speak again, even though she had continued unabated for the past 10 minutes and he had shown her no sign of actually listening. His glare was still pretty visible and his face had, so far, cringed a little with each syllable she had spoken.

"Do you think I'm doing ok?" Annie asked. Cas didn't answer her. It had worked alright up to now but he had looked at her and there was no way of ignoring her now.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice groggy but still rough and resonant. He hadn't even noticed the pain until then, as if he had been disconnected to his senses but trying to tune into her voice had made them all return at once. He remembered the banishing sigil he had carved onto his chest and his fight with the other angels, before remembering to listen for her reply.

"Well, you're a drunk, and Hugh said I shouldn't try and talk to you but I think it's quite relaxing don't you? I mean," Annie began again.

"I don't understand, how can you be a ghost?" he interrupted her. Then, she started to laugh. It was nervous and controlled, and her eyes became glassy and wide.

"What did you just say?" she asked again, still trying to retain her smile, although it was now just a mask.

"You don't look like a ghost," Cas reached forward to grab a ringed finger, but she snatched her hand away and turned for the door.

"Sorry, not today thank you. I think you're drunk, you need to sleep it off, that's all, just give me a minute and I'll," the door shut behind her.

"Look, I'm sorry guys, I was just serving this man a drink, and I talked to him... George, you know how Hugh said I shouldn't talk to people who are on their own drinking, well I think that's rubbish so I did, and well, he said that I was a ghost,"

"What, he actually said that?" Mitchell asked, who hadn't been listening to Annie and one of her trivial yet frequent over exaggerations and had been instead reading a magazine, sprawled out across the sofa. He had obviously decided to join in, even if he would probably regret in the near future.

"Well no Mitchell, not exactly," Annie started, thinking about it a little in her head.

"Well then, what did he say?" George asked. He looked worried, as usual, but he was leaning against the wall and he had his arms folded. He obviously didn't believe in it either.

"Right then, the man said he didn't understand how I could be a ghost. Ah ah ah..." she held a finger out before either of them could ridicule her, "And then he said how I didn't look anything like one."

"Well, that's good isn't it," George interjected.

"It could mean anything," Mitchell fought back, "Did he look like a writer? If he was a writer, it's perfectly normal. They usually come up with crap like that. He was probably talking about your quiet nature or your... "

"Yeah right Mitchell, that's not very likely." Her eyes narrowed and looked toward him. "And no, he didn't. He was wearing a trench coat with,"

"And?" Mitchell questioned from his position on the sofa. He had now thrown down the magazine and was looking angrily in her general direction.

"Can you just come over and," she signalled to the still open door, "Come on, please Mitchell." He made a loud and clear noise that was perfectly inaudible but also perfectly clear for Annie, and made for the door.

"Right, you," he pointed to the man from the doorway, "you're coming with me." Mitchell grabbed the man with fingerless gloves and tugged him toward the door. Cas didn't react to this. The remaining people in the pub looked around, eyes wide and distressed. "No need to worry, the man didn't pay for his drinks is all," Mitchell shouted out as he struggled, pulling the man across the street towards the pink house on the corner. Annie was left alone, stood a little inside the pub.

"Sorry, he's just my friend, he's... I'll be right back, so get your money out," she began before quickly following Mitchell through the doors, a nervous laugh starting in her throat before she concealed it with a few coughs, and listened for all the pushing and scraping of chairs and fumbling of change in pockets.


	2. Step 2: Have some tea

_So, an update finally! And I do realise by the end of this chapter they still don't even know his name, but don't worry, after this one they actually start TALKING to him, or at least treating him like a house guest, well, for Mitchell, an unwelcome house guest. I have only wrote a few sentences so far of the next chapter, but at least there is a sort of plan, if I could call it that, because even that isn't vague enough. But there is more of a plan than there was for this one, which is why it took so long, so I'm sorry for that. Don't worry, it's getting better, this was a chapter I just had to do to get on with the rest. Cheers!_

By the time Mitchell reached the house with the angel's pendulous body, Cas had reached the floor. He was tired, bleeding and hurt. The alcohol had obviously stopped working, or at least was past the point of actually making him feel numb and a little better about himself.

The monsters of Earth had found him and what could possibly be worse? A lot of things, his brain recalled, but seeing as listening to his head had got him here in the first place and, as adding this footnote to an already endless scrawl of disasters engraved into a part of Cas' mind he never wanted to remember again, he avoided the warning. "A lot of things", when placed in a different context, could become totally harmless and irrelevant, so he decided to blame his conscience for being so vague. He succumbed to the darkness in a matter of seconds, and let reality take a back seat. Well, that was before it started crawling its way to the front to get a grip of the wheel, his body jolting from left to right with the impact as he began swerving in every direction and his vision restarted. Everyone hated back seat drivers, and now Cas could finally understand why.

"Oh my God, is he dead?" Annie asked, trying to get a look at the man without actually being near him at all.

"Well, I don't know. You're the ghost, can't you tell if Mr Casper is about to pop up anywhere?" George whispered sarcastically, prompting Annie to produce the middle finger of her ringed hand.

"No, he's fine," Mitchell brushed off like a piece of dirt on his coat shoulder, as if the idea was completely ludicrous. They had managed to get him out of his trench coat which lay, alone and deserted, on the edge of a seat, like a glove without a hand to warm. Cas looked different, somehow unprotected and unguarded without it. His shirt was now covered in rose blotches that seemed to blur together into a bouquet. Mitchell looked toward the other two, took a deep breath and carried on with the job in hand. He pushed the man from left to right and his eyes began to slowly open. He didn't look happy.

"Do what you want with me, the Earth will soon burn anyway," Cas slurred, his mind already prepared for defeat.

"What the flip is he talking about?" George asked, edgy.

"Hell knows George," Mitchell darted a glance back at him.

"Actually, even hell doesn't know what it's in for in this instance," Cas was still drunk enough to be pleasantly surprised with the irony of what the vampire before him had just said. He smiled to himself. All three of them now seemed puzzled. George shifted from one foot to the other from where he was standing, and Mitchell gave Cas another push against the sofa.

"Look, who are you?" Annie finally asked, breaking the silence that had engulfed the room. Cas was enjoying it very much.

"I am an angel of the lord," Cas replied rhythmically, his mouth feeling as if it had worn these words before.

"Well, a bloody lax one if you were in a bar," Annie scoffed.

"I rebelled," Cas answered after pausing for someone else to come to the same conclusion and say it for him.

"George, there is no such thing as angels," Mitchell snapped.

"You never know."

"_I_ know, I've been around the block a few times," Mitchell continued.

"Look Mitchell, I'm a werewolf, you're a vampire, and Annie's a ghost. And I, for one, believe him if he says he's an angel," George hissed.

"Right, so you're saying if someone came in here and said they were Big Foot you'd welcome him in and give him a beer?" Mitchell asked.

"Yes, actually I..."

"We killed Big Foot nearly 200 hundred years ago. My condolences," Cas mumbled before closing his eyes again, whether it was from the pain, the loss of blood or the lack of interest he wasn't sure. He forced reality into a seatbelt and turned up the stereo. Unfortunately, in his dream, he was in the Impala. His sleep was restless and the sound of rock cluttered his dreams. He compartmentalised and shut the sound in a small box room inside his mind and let Mozart take over, let the music slowly crescendo to fill all the places of his mind that were still asleep, out of service or shouting at him to turn it down, but he resisted.

When he awoke, he looked up to the ceiling. It was the same landscape as before, and as he turned his head a little to look around he felt something near his forehead. It was hot and smelt of some kind of dried leaf boiled in water, but with a hint of milk.

"Drink it, it'll make you feel better," Annie said. Cas obligingly took the mug and held it loosely between his fingers as he carefully and slowly swung himself into an uncomfortable seating position, only to be faced with the vampire, sat quite still and frustrated in the single chair next to his, his eyes unmoving and holding a bare and ravaged expression that Cas somehow knew would never improve with time. The shirt he was wearing was not his own, but had been replaced by a slightly larger one that had some large, ugly pattern printed onto it. George was sat on the far sofa and he would, at intervals that seemed very short in length, look over to it longingly and wonder how, out of all the shirts Annie could have chosen, she had picked his favourite one. He looked to his arm and stared at the small tube protruding from it that was filled with blood. He looked at his wounds to find a white bandage covering them, but he assumed that there were still visible marks beneath there that would persevere for a while longer. At least the sigil had worked, he thought, before then suddenly wondering where the other angels had found themselves. Hopefully another hell similar to this. He looked up at the ghost and grimaced.

"It smells like leaves in hot water, how could that make me feel better?" Cas stated, not noticing the hurt look in Annie's eye, and the way her face suddenly creased and her stance became defensive. Even Mitchell looked surprised, but just a slight change in his expression was soon eaten up and replaced by his rather convincing mask. Cas was way braver than him. She then smiled, but it didn't look too good. Like she was smiling at Cas but actually looking through him into a world where she would quite happily waste a good mug and smash it against his face.

"Why don't you just give it a go?" It may have sounded like a question but somehow it came out as an imperative between her gritted teeth. Cas took the hint. And as soon as the boiled water hit his lips and trickled down his dry throat, all was well in the world. It warmed him from the inside out and was like a lifeguard appearing before you drown, saving your before you had even noticed you had needed help. He realised this had been the thing missing from his life, that this new attachment, with its handle that he suddenly tightened his grip around, would help him through anything. He caressed the mug with his free hand, protecting the soothing liquid within that would make it all go away. He no longer needed alcohol. There was no apocalypse, no fight between Lucifer and Michael, no Dean and Sam Winchester. He looked into the brown pool of liquid before him. Perhaps there was some hope for the monsters of the Earth, especially if they knew a ghost who could make tea.

"What is this, is it some kind of cure or herbal remedy?" Cas asked, confused and dazed.

"Nope," Annie laughed, pleased, "just tea." Cas suddenly thought of Jimmy Novak and wondered whether it was a craving of his before deciding against it. He didn't want to share this with Jimmy, this was all him. And Jimmy couldn't take that from him.


End file.
